Edge of Forever
by BBBKA
Summary: The Duncan family's lives are changed forever in split second. COMPLETE
1. One More From The Road

Amy Duncan had exactly thirteen minutes left before her life changed forever.

Of course, she didn't know that. She only knew that her life was just too busy some days, and today was definitely turning into one of those days. The day had started out with a bang when the three-year-old woke up in a temper, the twelve year-old dropped a bombshell about baseball practice that afternoon, and the sixteen year-old argued with everyone because of her new falling-out with her boyfriend. Then the eighteen year-old's car wouldn't start, forcing Amy and her husband Bob to both be late for work after driving all four kids to their various schools and daycare. Work had been a nightmare of understaffing and a high patient census in the Emergency Room where she was a nurse. And now . . .

Now, she was pulling into her own driveway with the full and certain knowledge that she wouldn't be getting out of her mini-van any time soon. She leaned on the horn and was rewarded with the sight of her youngest son running out down the driveway with his gear bag in one hand and a half-eaten Sloppy Joe in the other.

Thank goodness for the slow-cooker, she thought. At least Bob and the kids would get dinner.

Gabe threw his gear bag in the back seat and climbed in front beside her. The Sloppy Joe had vanished, but his bulging cheeks gave evidence that it wasn't completely gone yet.

"There's this thing called chewing," she scolded. "You should try it."

He grinned and held up both free hands before grabbing at the seatbelt and buckling himself in.

Amy understood that to mean "but now I have both hands free to buckle up". She shook her head, smiling.

Gabe gulped down the rest of his supper. "Safety first. Right, Mom?"

"Sure," she chuckled.

Eleven minutes left.

"Are you sure practice hasn't been cancelled?" she asked. "There's a nasty storm coming. Looks like it could hit any minute."

"Nope, no calls from the coach."

"You know you're going to get wet," Amy said, as the first fat raindrops hit the windshield. She frowned. Powerful spring storms were nothing new to a woman who had lived here in the Rocky Mountains her entire life. But being familiar with the storms didn't mean she liked being out in them. She glanced in the rearview mirror and watched the trees whip back and forth in the sudden wind.

"Gabe, turn on the radio, please. I want to hear if there are any weather warnings or watches."

He complied. The van was filled with a blast of classic rock at full volume.

"Really, Mom? And you yell at _us_ to turn our music down?"

"Hey, it's a law: Lynyrd Skynyrd must be played at full volume at all times. Just pop the CD and find a radio station."

Eight minutes.

A moment later, she was reassured that they were under a severe thunderstorm warning, but no tornado watch. She didn't need the National Weather Service to tell her that she was driving through a severe thunderstorm. No, she figured that out from the gale-force winds and a sky that had suddenly gone dark at 6:30 p.m. "Gabe, Honey, I think we're going to turn around," she decided. "There's no way you'll have practice tonight in this weather."

"But, Mom—"

"But nothing, Mister. Can you imagine standing in the middle of the baseball field with an aluminum bat in your hand during a thunderstorm?"

"Gabe Duncan, Human Lightening Rod?"

Three minutes.

Amy nodded. "If Coach Goodwin gets mad, he can argue with _me_." She slowed the vehicle and started looking for a place to turn around. It was a lovely, tree-lined street with few houses. Normally, she enjoyed the beautiful mix of maple, oak and pine trees and the peaceful feeling she got whenever she drove through here, but tonight she found herself wishing for a few less trees and a few more strategically-placed driveways.

Lightning tore through the sky, blinding her for a second.

"This is bad, isn't it?" Gabe asked in a hushed voice.

"I've driven in worse," Amy told him, risking a glance in his direction. She tried to sound calm, but she was definitely nervous about any storm that managed to blow up so quickly. She turned the wipers on high and hunched forward, trying to see. Forget about a place to turn around; they needed a place to pull over and stop. NOW.

She and Gabe both heard the _**crack**_ at the same time. Up against the night-like sky, she saw the splintered trunk of one of the trees –maple, she thought crazily –as the top part of the tree snapped off and plunged toward her vehicle.

"No, no, no . . . " Amy heard her own voice ring out, mingling with her child's scream. For a split second, she wondered whether to slam on the brake or to floor the gas pedal and try to shoot through the gap. Then instinct took over and she was stomping on the brake, gripping the steering wheel with all her might and _willing_ the van to stopstopstopSTOP—

Sharp, stinging pain spread across the top of her head. Her face was suddenly wet with cool rain and warm blood as her entire world shrank to include nothing but leaves and bark and glass and the raging storm outside – which was no longer outside but was now somehow inside and her head hurt and there was blood all over her right hand and why couldn't she turn her head or move at all and why was her baby boy keening endlessly in a high-pitched wordless wail?

_ Breathe_.

Amy drew a long, shaking breath and told herself to be calm. "Gabe, settle down!" she snapped. "I need you to talk to me, Baby. Are you hurt?"

"I don't know!"

"Okay, okay. Okay." He was answering her. That was good. He was conscious and able to process what she was saying.

He was alive.

_ Thank you, Jesus._ From out of the blue, Amy suddenly thought of her father's favorite saying: _There are no atheists in foxholes._

She could move her right arm a little bit. Her fingers closed around the straps of her purse where it lay on the floor between the seats. Her cell phone was in there somewhere.

"Hey! Are you all right in there?" Someone was peering in the window at her through the tangle of tree and twisted metal. "I've called 9-1-1."

Out of the corner of her eye, Amy could see a young, earnest-looking face surrounded by wet, dark hair. Thunder boomed.

"I'm all right," she told him. "My son is hurt. Please get him out."

"Yes, Ma'am." The face disappeared. There was movement on the other side of the van.

"Okay, I'm going to pull you out the backseat window," Their rescuer said. "I've got you; can you push up with your feet?"

"But my Mom—"

"I'm not hurt, Gabe," Amy said hastily. "I'm just stuck. Let him get you out of here before this storm gets worse**. **I'll be fine."

Still unable to turn her head, she could barely see her son's feet moving upward as the stranger guided him upward and out. Soon, the earnest young rescuer was back at her window. "Your turn," he said . "I'm going to pull you out the same way I got your son out,"

"No." If she could have moved, she would have shaken her head for emphasis. "Where's Gabe?"

"I put him in my truck. He's safe."

"No, he's not. This storm could blow another tree over, or you could be struck by lightening, or it might even become a tornado. Please, just get him somewhere safe."

"I'm not leaving you here!"

"Please." Amy hated the begging tone of her voice. "Listen to me," she pleaded. "I am not hurt, I'm not crazy. I'm a Mom, and my kids are the most important part of my life. Please, keep him safe."

"But—"

"What would your mother want if it was her stuck here and you sitting out there in a stranger's truck?"

Silence. Then, "I'll be back. I swear."

Amy breathed a deep sigh of relief. She was alone and terrified, but her son was on his way to safety. Her other kids were home safe with their father, and help was on its way. She wasn't badly hurt –

Then the pain hit, and it hit _hard_.

Amy Duncan screamed in agony as it rippled through the base of her neck, almost between her shoulders. Oh, God. This was bad, she realized.

Really bad.

******GLC******

_Just to clarify, this story takes place before the announcement of Baby #5. It's going to be longer and a lot darker than most of my other stories, and it's a very personal story for a whole lot of reasons. I appreciate any reviews and suggestions._

_This is dedicated to EMS workers everywhere who put themselves on the line every day, and especially to my own Knight in Shining Turnout Gear. Love you, Ken._


	2. What's Your Name

He thought he might throw up, right there in the road. He'd never seen a serious car accident up close in all of his sixteen years, but there was no question in his mind when it came to responding. It was a mini-van, for God's sake, just like the one his girlfriend's mom drove. Mini-vans meant kids and moms; only a cold-hearted bastard would keep driving after seeing a giant maple tree break off and fall directly on top of the vehicle.

He parked his father's truck on the side of the road and jumped out. Almost immediately, he was soaked to the skin by the driving rain, but he didn't notice. He was too busy shouting information into his cell phone at the 9-1-1 dispatcher. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that these people were trained to stay unemotional in any situation; however, there was something maddening about her calm, patient questions.

Most of the damage seemed to be on the driver's side of the vehicle. The teen got as close as he could and peered through the carnage. "Hey!" He shouted. "Are you all right in there? I've called 9-1-1!"

He could see long blonde hair streaked with blood, and the side of a woman's face. Her skin had a funny color – a grayish chalky white that looked . . . cold, somehow. Amazingly, she actually answered him. "I'm all right!" She cried. "My son is hurt. Please, get him out."

_My God,_ he thought; _she's alive_?

He could see movement on the other side of the woman. He bolted around to the other side as fast as he could move, and realized instantly that there was no way he was going to be able to open the door. He tugged at the handle of the sliding side door, but that was also too badly damaged to open. The windows were shattered; gingerly, he reached through and found that he could reach the small dark-haired person in the passenger seat.

"I'm going to pull you out the backseat window," he said. "Can you push with your feet?"

The boy resisted for a moment, but then allowed himself to be half-dragged, half-lifted out of the vehicle. "Do you think you can walk?" The teen asked him.

"I—I don't know, Spencer."

Gabe Duncan.

His girlfriend's little brother.

Spencer almost dropped him. That meant that the woman pinned under the maple tree was their mom.

First things first. "Hang on to me, okay, Gabe?" The boy had grown a lot during the past year, but he was still small enough for Spencer to carry. He put the kid in the truck and took a second to wipe some blood and rain from his face. "Stay here, Buddy," he said as gently as he could. "I'm going to go help your mom."

But she didn't want to be helped. She wanted him to leave her there and take care of Gabe. He felt torn until she played dirty and told him to think about what his own mother would want him to do. Even as he walked away, the sound of her agonized scream filled his ears.

Gabe must have heard it, too. He leaped out of the truck and ran to help her, but Spencer caught him, wrapping both arms around him. _I promised to keep you safe_, he thought. The boy was surprisingly strong—wriggling, kicking, pounding with small fists – but the teen refused to let him go.

As if in answer to his silent prayers, the scene was suddenly swarmed with people. They piled out of fire trucks, an ambulance, a police car and other vehicles that seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Shh, Gabe, everything's going to be okay," he murmured. "Help is here. It'll be okay." In his arms, the struggles suddenly ceased. He had a few seconds of relief that became panic almost immediately when Gabe went limp.

*******GLC******

Teddy Duncan was getting angry. Spencer was almost an hour late for their date, and he wasn't answering his cell phone. Sure, there had been a terrible storm, but it had dwindled away to just rain by this point so there was really no excuse.

"Maybe there's a cell phone tower down or something," her father commented. He frowned at the phone in his own hand. "I can't get through to your mother either, and I'm sure Gabe's practice must have been cancelled. Doesn't Spencer live over by the practice field? If there's a tower down, it makes sense that they both would have lost signal over in the same area."

"I heard sirens a while back," Teddy said. "Maybe you're right."

Before Bob could answer, the front door burst open and Spencer stumbled in. He was drenched and mud-splattered, and he ran right past his girlfriend's outstretched arms. He went instead to her father, clutching at the front of the man's shirt in desperation.

"Mr. Duncan, there's been an accident!" He gasped.

"Easy there," Bob told him. "Where are you hurt? Teddy, call 9-1-1—"

"No, not me!" Spencer gulped. "Mrs. Duncan and Gabe! A tree – I saw it happen. I got Gabe out, but Mrs. Duncan. . . she was trapped and they had to cut the van apart to get her out. They're both in ambulances on the way to the hospital – I couldn't call you, my phone got wet and won't work."

_ "Which hospital?"_ Bob demanded.

"The one she works at."

"Whose blood is that on your shirt?" Teddy asked.

"Spencer is messy," three year-old Charlie added.

Spencer looked down, startled. Sure enough, there were streaks of smeared blood all down his shirt front and on his arms. "I—it must be Gabe's," he murmured.

"That's from my brother?" her voice sounded funny to her own ears. There was . . . so much of it. "Mom was trapped in the van? Daddy . . . ?"

"C'mon, let's grab your sister and go." Bob was suddenly all business. "Spencer, PJ is at work. Will you call him and let him know what's going on? Use the house phone."

"Sir, I'd rather tell him in person. If that's okay."

"You're right. That's probably best." Bob called back over his shoulder, already halfway out the door with his youngest child in his arms and his other daughter right on his heels. Spencer hurried after them and yanked the door shut.


	3. Double Trouble

As an Emergency Room nurse, Amy had taken care of many patients strapped to backboards, and had even been strapped to one a few times while practicing for state board exams with the other nursing students. But none of that had prepared her for the claustrophobic misery of this moment, with the cervical collar immobilizing her head and neck and the heavy-duty straps securing her to the backboard. It made her want to scream and thrash about just to prove that she could still move.

She felt a warm, comforting grip on her right hand and a friendly face swam into view above her, blocking out her view of the ER ceiling. It was Fran Culpepper, one of the nurses she had worked with earlier in the day.

"Don't you get enough of this place during the day?" Fran chided.

" . . . guess not," Amy managed. "Fran, my son—"

"Is in good hands," Fran said firmly. "You know there's nowhere better for him to be right now. You let us take care of you, and then I'll go see what I can find out. I've tried to reach your husband, but there's no answer at home. Does he have a cell phone?"

Amy gave her Bob's cell phone number, and she relayed it to someone Amy couldn't see. Fran's face disappeared when Dr Russell, an older man with a distinctly fatherly air, leaned over to smile down at her and ask silly questions. Of course she knew where she was, and what date it was, and why she was here. Yes, she remembered what had happened. Did he really think she could ever forget it? Why couldn't he see that the only question that needed answering was her own?

"Is my son all right?"

"Can you feel this, Amy?" Dr. Russell asked. "Is it sharp or dull?"

"Sharp. Please, tell me what's going on with him."

"One of the nurses is finding that out for you. How about this? Sharp or dull?"

"Dull."

"Good girl."

"How bad is it?"

"It's hard to tell at this point," Dr. Russell told her. "You've got sensation in your feet and legs, and everywhere else except those fingers on your left hand, so that's good. But I'm going to have to send you down for x-rays and a CT to see what's going on with your neck. I- " He turned his head to listen to someone just out of Amy's sight; his expression was grim when he looked back down at her. In the distance, she could hear a commotion. She thought she heard a voice calling "Mom!"

She thought her heart would stop beating.

"Dr Russell. . .?" she whispered.

"Amy, I need you to stay calm for me. Your son is awake, and he's combative. Dr Phillips can't sedate him until she finishes the initial exam. Can you tell us anything that will calm him down?"

_Me_, she thought; _my child needs __me_. Gabe was too smart to believe a generic "Mom says she loves you and everything's okay" message. He needed something more personal, something like –

"Roses love sunshine, violets love dew," she whispered. "Tell him I said 'roses love sunshine, violets love dew'."

"'Roses love sunshine, violets love dew'?" The doctor echoed. He turned and spoke once again to the person she couldn't see. "Did you get that? Go!"

He touched the top of her head, gently parting the hair to examine her scalp. "You'll need a few stitches here," he said. "You've got a nice laceration. May need about a dozen or so stitches. I'm going to have Fran clean it up while I go order those tests for you. Any questions before I go?"

"My son . . .?"

"We'll let you know as soon as we know anything. Tracey Phillips is one of the best doctors we have; you know that. She'll take excellent care of him."

"O-okay."

Fran returned and dabbed at her face. If she noticed she was wiping away more tears than dirt or blood, she didn't say anything.

-GLC-

" . . . there you go. Good job, Gabriel. I need you to wake up."

Gabe did not know the woman's voice, but she was annoyingly insistent. He wanted to stay asleep, just for another five minutes. He tried to turn and burrow into his pillows – and discovered that he couldn't move.

His eyes flew open.

He was looking up at a white ceiling and several strange faces. Something was wrapped around his neck and cheeks and a strap of some kind bit into his forehead. Another went around his legs just below the knees, while yet another crossed his chest, holding his upper arms close to his sides. Everything _hurt_.

"Let me _go_!" He cried, desperately trying to free himself. Someone clasped his left hand.

"Gabriel, you're at the hospital," The woman said. "I'm Dr. Phillips. I—"

"No!" He thrashed helplessly and more hands clutched at him, restraining him even more.

"Gabriel—

"No, no, let –" He could hear his voice, rough with fear. It seemed girlishly high, just like it had sounded when he screamed just before the impact.

Impact.

Memories flooded back. The tree. Broken glass. A stranger hauling him out of the wreck and into the rain, and then someone –Spencer?—holding him back, keeping him from running to his mother.

"Mom!" He cried. "My mom – I need – she's hurt!"

"She's here, too, and they're taking good care of her. Right now, I need to take care of you."

"Mom? Mom!" He shouted. Twelve year-olds don't cry, he told himself. No matter what.

He heard the doctor barking orders at someone. Black spots swam in front of his eyes.

"He's hyperventilating!" Someone cried.

A new face leaned in over him. "Your mom says to tell you 'roses love sunshine, violets love dew'," a young red-haired girl told him breathlessly.

He froze.

"See?" The redhead told him; "Your mom is just a few doors away, and she told me to tell you that."

He drew a deep, shaky breath. They weren't lying to him. She was really here at the hospital, and she was still alive. Only his mom would know that he would recognize the words to the lullaby he had heard her sing to Charlie a million times. It was the same lullaby he dimly remembered from his own childhood, too: _Roses love sunshine, violets love dew. Angels in Heaven know I love you._

"Okay now?" Dr. Phillips asked.

"Y-yeah."

-GLC-

"_Down In the Valley" is a traditional Appalachian folk song (lyrics in public domain). I used it here because it's a song that has been used to soothe crying children in my family for at least four generations. I never understood the full meaning of the song until I was much older, but it's still sort of a code between my sisters and me – and it still comforts me with a feeling of family and home when I've been away too long._

_Full lyrics can be found on my profile page._


	4. Ain't Too Proud to Pray

Bob knew that he had never had a good "Poker face". Whatever emotion he felt at any given time was always clearly written on his face for the entire world to see. As he stood outside the door of the cubicle that held his injured son, he struggled to compose his features so as not to reveal anything, no matter what he saw.

All that preparation went right out the window as soon as he saw Gabe.

The boy was strapped down to a backboard with a large c-collar clamped around his neck and shoulders. His clothes were gone; a childish-looking hospital gown had been wrapped around him without being snapped or tied, and his bare feet and legs were marked with scrapes and cuts that made his father flinch. Worst of all was the wild-eyed expression of sheer terror on his face and the white-knuckled fists that proved just how hard he was working to stay calm.

A young woman in hospital scrubs was cleaning the wounds on his legs while speaking to him in a soft, gentle voice. She looked up and smiled at Bob.

"Someone's here to see you, Gabe," she said.

Bob swallowed noisily and stepped forward, laying one large hand over his son's clenched fist. Gabe couldn't turn his head at all, so Bob leaned over to look straight down into his face.

"Hey," he breathed.

"_Dad_!" The anguish in Gabe's voice tore at his father's heart. "What about Mom? Is she okay? They won't tell me anything. "

"She's downstairs, getting a CT scan," Bob told him. "I haven't seen her yet, but Fran says she's awake and talking." He'd actually been somewhat relieved to find he couldn't see her right away; he had agonized all the way here about having to choose which one to see first. "How're you feeling?"

Gabe's chin trembled. He blinked rapidly.

"That bad?"

"Uh-huh."

Bob ached to hold his child in his arms and comfort him until the fear and pain went away. As it was, he could only squeeze a hand and smile a plastered on, fake smile.

Another woman walked in and gave Bob a quick appraising glance. "Are you his father?" She asked.

"Yes. Bob Duncan." He automatically stuck his hand out.

She shook it. "Dr Phillips. I've been spending some time with Gabriel this evening. He's a pretty tough kid."

"Yes . . . he is."

"Well, I've got some good news for you, Gabriel. I've looked at your x-rays, and it looks like your neck and back are okay, so we can get you off of the backboard."

"Yay," Gabe sighed.

"Miserable, isn't it?" Dr Phillips wrinkled her nose. "I wish someone would design a comfortable backboard. Maybe you can design one when you grow up, huh?

"I'll be a millionaire."

"And I can retire early!" Bob's smile was less forced this time. Neck and spine were okay, so that was one less thing to worry about. Perhaps he could even take Gabe home tonight. The relief was almost overwhelming.

He stepped back out of the way as two other people came into the room. He didn't know if they were nurses, interns, or what-have-you, and he really didn't care. All that mattered was that they were there to help with his boy. He held his breath while they undid all of the straps and then rolled Gabe over on his side to slide the hated backboard out from under him. The last thing to go was the bulky yellow contraption that had immobilized his head and neck.

The nurse with the soft voice smoothed and fastened the gown around him while Bob stepped forward again. "Better?" He asked.

Gabe nodded. His chin trembled again. One silent tear slipped down into his ear and his face crumpled as he lost the battle he had been fighting for too long. 'I'm s-sorry," he choked; "I shouldn't cry – I'm—"

"No, no, don't be sorry!" Bob cupped the boy's cheek in his hand and leaned over to plant a kiss on his forehead. "I'd worry more about you if you didn't cry! Let it out, just let it all out."

"I couldn't m-move."

"I'd cry too, if I was on a backboard."

"Dad, if you were on a backboard, the _paramedics_ would be crying."

Bob laughed aloud, pleased to hear Gabe's tears turn to giggles and finally hiccups.

"Mr. Duncan, may I speak with you for a moment?" The doctor asked. "Out in the hallway?"

"Sure. Gabe, I'll be right back. Teddy and Charlie are here, too; I'll send them in to keep you company."

One in the hallway, Dr Phillips was all business. "I want to admit him," she stated. "He seems to be out of any immediate danger, but I'd like to be able to keep an eye on him."

"Okay." It sounded like a reasonable request.

"I may want to get an MRI in the morning, depending on how he does during the night."

"Why? What are you looking for?"

The doctor hesitated for a long moment before speaking again. "Mr. Duncan, your son was involved in a horrific accident, and was unconscious for an extended amount of time," she said slowly. "At this point, his only injuries appear the scrapes and lacerations from broken glass—especially on his legs, from being dragged out of the vehicle through the window. But some injuries, particularly head injuries, don't always show up right away. I just want to make sure he's really all right."

"Head injuries."

"Yes. Did I hear you say there are other family members here? Let's get them back here with him, because it looks like your wife is back from her CT. I'm sure you'll want to see her and talk with her doctor."


	5. I Need You

PJ Duncan had been fighting off a nearly overwhelming feeling of doom throughout his entire shift at Kwikki Chikki. He usually enjoyed the busy dinner shift because the time seemed to fly past, but tonight was different. It had started with the storm; PJ always got nervous during thunderstorms. Especially the ones that screamed in with the kind of force that had been behind today's storm. Even though he was eighteen and technically an adult, he was as freaked out by thunder and lightning as he had been as a child.

But then the storm passed and the feeling didn't go away. People poured into the restaurant for supper because the storm had knocked out power all over town. They chattered about trees and power lines down in the roads. Someone mentioned an accident in which a tree had fallen on a minivan just a few streets away.

He felt the first cold finger of uneasiness dance down his spine, but dismissed it. After all, there were hundreds –no, _thousands_—of people in Denver who drove minivans. Not just his mom. Even though she would have been on that very street taking Gabe to baseball practice.

Practice had probably been cancelled because of the storm, he told himself.

But when he was sweeping the dining area, he overheard another conversation about the accident.

"Do you think that kid will make it?" a teen asked his friend as they set their trays on a table.

"No way," the other boy answered. "He was probably already dead, dude. Didn't you see how he just . . . laid there?"

"Excuse me." PJ leaned in. "Are you talking about the tree that fell on the van?"

The first teen nodded, his mouth already full of chicken.

"What . . . what did he look like?" PJ asked.

"I couldn't really see much. Looked like he was wearing a red baseball uniform."

Gabe's team wasn't the only one that wore red uniforms, PJ told himself. He excused himself and headed for the back room, pulling out his cell phone as he went. It was probably just a coincidence, but he would feel better once he called home and talked to his dad, just to be sure.

"Duncan! You're not on break yet," Mitch, PJ's boss, shouted. "Get back up front!"

PJ held up a finger and ducked through the kitchen door, already hitting placing the call. There was no answer on the Duncan house phone.

Lots of people drove minivans. Lots of kid had baseball practice and wore red uniforms. Mom and Gabe were fine. He was just overreacting, giving them all something to laugh at later tonight.

The call to his Dad's phone went straight to voicemail.

Lots of people drove minivans. Lots of kids wore red uniforms to baseball practice. Mom and Gabe were fine.

His Mom's phone went to voicemail.

Lots of people drove minivans.

"PJ."

Mitch spoke from right behind him, and he _knew_.

Slowly, reluctantly, PJ turned to face his boss. In that moment, everything was too focused, too vivid. PJ could smell the stale Dentyne on Mitch's breath; he could hear the clatter of dishes going into the dishwasher and the rumble of conversation in the dining room. Somewhere, the sound system was pumping out a customer-friendly version of "Papa Don't Preach".

It was the first time PJ had ever seen Mitch's face look less than angry.

Spencer Walsh stood behind Mitch, looking wet and bedraggled.

"No," PJ told them both. "No, there are lots of minivans in Denver. There's a tower down or something, and I'm going to call my sister, and she'll tell me that everyone is okay. I just have to call Teddy—"

"PJ—"

"No. Please . . . no."

"PJ, I told your dad I'd bring you to the hospital," Spencer told him. "He and Teddy and Charlie are on their way there, and they need you."

"Are Mom and Gabe . . . gone?" From a family of six to a family of four, just like that?

Unthinkable.

Unbearable.

"I talked to both of them at the scene," Spencer said. "C'mon, I'll tell you the rest on the way."

"Go, PJ," Mitch urged. "Don't worry about the rest of your shift here. Just have someone call me and let me know what's going on."

Suddenly, reality zoomed back in, and PJ could move at normal speed again. He nodded and followed Spencer at a run for the parking lot, where Spencer had left the motor running in his father's truck. He threw it into gear while PJ was still buckling in.

"I saw it happen," he said. "I didn't know it was them at first. That crazy storm hit so fast! They passed me going the other way, and I heard this awful noise, and I looked up in the rearview mirror, and . . ." he shuddered. "I couldn't really see your mom, but she told me she was okay, and yelled at me to get her son. I ran around and pulled him out and that's when I realized who it was."

"Did you pull Mom out, too?"

"No. I – she wouldn't let me, PJ. She told me her kids were the most important thing in her life."

PJ nodded. That sounded like his Mom, all right. Sure, she liked being the center of attention, but she was fiercely protective of all of her children. It made perfect sense that she would try to be in charge of her own accident scene—especially if she thought one of her kids was hurt.

"So was Gabe okay?" He asked. "Those guys at Kwikki Chikki made it sound pretty bad."

"I-I don't know. He . . . he was running around after I put him in the truck, and he seemed pretty strong. I tried to stop him from going back to Mrs. Duncan, and then all of a sudden, he just . . . collapsed. Right there in the road. The paramedics made me move, and they put him on a board and everything and then threw him in an ambulance. He was still out cold when they left."

PJ touched a red smear on the dashboard. "He was right here? In this truck?"

Spencer nodded.

"So this is his?"

Spencer nodded again. "I tried to call your house, but my phone isn't working anymore," he said softly. "I had to stick around and talk to the police because I was a witness. I saw them use the Jaws to cut the van apart, and I swear your mom was still talking when they got her out. PJ, I swear they were both alive the last time I saw them. I swear."

There was nothing more to say. As soon as they reached the hospital, both boys leaped out and raced for the door. Spencer may have been the athlete, but PJ had so much more at stake. They skidded into the building at almost the exact same time, and were quickly ushered back to a small, curtained-off cubicle.

The youngest Duncan boy was awake. PJ barely noticed his puffy face or the IV tube running into his arm. He only noticed that his brother was alive and awake.

Teddy sat in the chair beside the bed, holding his hand between both of hers. She was a wreck, her pretty face streaked with tears and smudged make-up, but she was smiling at something Gabe had said; Charlie was in the bed with Gabe, snuggled up next to him and sound asleep on his shoulder.

"PJ!" Gabe cried.

'Hey, Gabe," PJ tried to sound nonchalant, but they all heard his voice crack. "Can I – touch you?"

"Only if you can get around Teddy."

Teddy huffed indignantly, but she scooted her chair far enough to let PJ in. Ever so gently, he leaned in and pressed his cheek against his brother's, gripping his shoulder and holding him close in an improvised hug. "Don't ever scare me like that again," he whispered.

""Okay."

PJ felt his sister's arm slide round him. They stayed like that, the four Duncan siblings, all clustered in and around the same bed in one big hug.

"How is Mom?" PJ asked, after a while. He released Gabe and stepped back.

"We don't know," Teddy told him. "Dad told Charlie and me to stay with Gabe while he talked to Mom's doctor, and that's all I know. He hasn't come back yet."

"She was screaming," Gabe said. "She said she wasn't hurt. She said she was just stuck under the tree, but she wasn't hurt, and she told me to let that guy help me out. She said she wasn't hurt. And then she started yelling and screaming, but he wouldn't let me go back to help her."

PJ and Teddy looked at each other, and then at Spencer, who stood awkwardly in the farthest corner of the room. He shook his head.

"It's all my fault, isn't it?" "Gabe asked miserably. "She was only out in the storm because of me, and then I should have stayed with her. But she said she wasn't hurt. It's all my fault. She has to be all right. She just has to be."

Before either of his older siblings could reply, a nurse entered the room. "Hey, guys," she said. "I'm Fran; I work with your mom. She and your dad want to see you for a minute, and she asked me to stay here with you, Gabe."

"I can stay with him," Spencer offered. "Go ahead, guys. Gabe and Charlie and I will be all right."

"Tell Mom I – I . . . tell her . . ." Gabe's voice trailed off.

"She knows you love her," PJ whispered, giving his little brother's hand an affectionate squeeze. "She knows. I promise."

*****GLC*****

_Thank you all so much for the kind reviews. With the holiday this weekend, it may be a few days before my next update, but I'll do my best. I also promise to finish "Hair of the Dog" and "Big Time Statutory" within the next couple of weeks . . . and I'll never EVER work on more than one story at a time again!_

_And a shout out to speak and be fearless: don't be irritated by the low number of reviews. I treasure each and every one I get, and 10 is just as rewarding as 100! Besides, this story is sort of therapeutic for me, and every word I write takes another pound of weight off my shoulders. I'm honored to have all of you along for the journey._


	6. Am I Losin'

Amy hated having her kids see her like this. She was still completely immobilized and restrained, unable to move anything but her hands, unable to look anywhere but straight ahead or in this case, since she was flat on her back, straight _up_. Her clothes had been cut away and replaced with a blue hospital gown, and her bare feet had been covered with something fluffy and warm.

Fluffy and warm. Both were good sensations after a neck injury, she told herself.

Pain was not such a good sensation. It came in waves that the high dosages of Dilaudid just couldn't touch, but she refused to let them give her anything stronger. The nurse part of her brain realized that there were decisions that were going to have to be made in the upcoming hours, and she didn't want Bob to face them alone. The _wife_ part of her brain understood that Bob was not good at decision-making when someone he loved was hurt. The _mother_ part of her brain knew that she and her children needed to see each other one more time. Just in case.

The _woman_ part of her brain was still reeling from being lifted and moved and well, manhandled all evening. When Fran was cutting away her clothes, Amy had assured her that modesty really wasn't an issue. After all, she reasoned, she had given birth four times; what part of her body _hadn't_ been touched and seen by a roomful of medical professionals before?

But this was different. Amy felt small and vulnerable and definitely not in control of the situation.

If there was one thing that Amy Duncan needed, it was to be in control of any situation.

So she argued with Bob about allowing the kids to see her like this, and about letting them hear what the doctor was about to tell her after looking at the X-rays and CT scans. She called him names and shouted at him and even cried, but Bob could be as stubborn and determined as his feisty little wife when the situation called for it. And when the lives of his wife and son were at stake, the situation definitely called for it.

"PJ is an adult, Honey," he reminded her gently. "He's eighteen. He deserves to understand what's going on. And you can't make Teddy stay behind if PJ comes along. Have faith in your kids."

PJ's blue eyes were filled with unshed tears when he leaned over to kiss her cheek. He looked pale and scared, but his lips were pressed together with a kind of determination she had rarely seen in her firstborn. He seemed to have aged since that morning. His voice didn't even tremble when he said "Gabe said to tell you he loves you, Mom."

Teddy was also fighting for control. She kissed Amy's cheek as well, and forced a smile."Always the drama queen, right, Mom?" She said.

Amy smiled back. She took a deep breath. "Okay," she announced. "Go ahead, Dr. Wilmont. Give it to us straight."

Carl Wilmont was one of the best neurosurgeons in the area, not only because of his skills in the operating room but also because he knew how to talk to his patients and their families. He had a way of explaining things in a way that non-medical people could understand without making them feel stupid. Amy was relieved to know that he would be taking care of her and her family.

"When we talk about the spine, we divide it into three areas," Dr. Wilmont began. "There's the Cranial, Thoracic and Lumbar, and we use the letters _C_, _T_ and _L_ to talk about them. So if I say _C-7_, that means the seventh vertebra in the Cranial –or head—part of the spine.

"Amy's neck is broken at C-7 and T-1, or what we refer to as the CranioThoracic Junction."

"Her neck _is_ broken." Bob stated. Amy could feel his hand holding hers, but couldn't see him. He sounded so bleak that she squeezed his hand to comfort him, even though it was her neck—her future- they were discussing.

"Yes."

"But –but I thought people got paralyzed when they broke their necks," PJ stammered.

"Not always," the surgeon told him. "In cases where the spinal cord is damaged, or when the injury is higher in the cranial region, paralysis almost always occurs. In this case, however, I have good reason to believe that her spinal cord wasn't badly damaged, which is good news. She's got full sensation in her feet and legs."

"What about my left hand?" Amy asked. "Why are my two outer fingers numb?" She thought she knew the answer, but wanted her family to understand.

"It's hard to know for sure just yet, but it is most likely related to nerve damage. I'll know more after your surgery."

"What, exactly, are you going to do?" Teddy asked.

"I'm going to put in a metal plate and fuse the spine at the point of injury," Dr. Wilmont explained. "If all goes well, your mom could make a full recovery in three to six months."

"And what if all _doesn't_ go well?" Bob asked.

"There are possible complications, of course. There are certain risks associated with any surgery, and working with the spine is never a simple procedure."

"What are the complications?" Bob wanted to know.

"The spine is a very delicate area, Mr. Duncan. Paralysis is the highest risk."

"What about. . . " the big man cleared his throat and tried again, but just couldn't say it.

Amy squeezed his hand again."Doctor, my husband wants to know if there's a chance I could die during the surgery."

"Yes, that is a possibility. This is a very risky surgery. But it's also necessary. Without this surgery, Mr. Duncan, Amy cannot survive more than a few days."

*GLC*

"Why are you here?" Gabe demanded.

Spencer blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You're not my family. I want my mom."

"Gabe, your mom is -"

"Shut up! Where is she?" Gabe tried to sit up. Charlie, asleep on his shoulder, squawked in protest.

He gave her a startled glance and reached up to touch his little sister's hair. "Shhh, go back to sleep, Charlie. When did she get here?"

"She's been here for a while, Gabe. Don't you remember?"

". . . roses love sunshine, violets love dew. She's my baby sister, you know. She likes it when Mom sings about the violets."

Spencer's heart skipped a beat."Do you know where you are, Gabe?" He asked.

". . . know I love you, dear, know I love you. Angels in Heaven know I love you."

Spencer seized the call button. Something was wrong.

Terribly wrong.

_Thanks to Anita and Julie, the ER nurses who let me pick their brains for the medical "stuff". Also to the ER staff at South Haven Community Hospital, Bronson Methodist Hospital, and all of the guys: Dave, Brian, Todd, Mitch, JC, Jason, Rey and Cody._


	7. Was I Right or Wrong?

In the last few minutes before Amy was taken away for her spinal fusion, she asked to speak to each of her older two children alone. PJ went first; afterward, he paused just long enough to give his father a quick hug before loping away to Gabe's cubicle. Teddy was misty-eyed but determined after her turn.

"She wants to talk to you now, Daddy," she said.

He entered the room and smiled down at his wife. There was so much to say and yet so little. He settled on one last kiss before they wheeled her away for her surgery. "I love you, Ames," he murmured, his lips still touching hers.

"I love you, too. No matter what happens, Bob, the happiest day of my life was the day I became your wife, don't ever forget that."

"Never," he whispered.

"See you in few hours," she said. "I think my ride is getting impatient."

He smiled at her and stepped back out of the way. When she was gone, he allowed himself to sag backwards into the chair and buried his face in his hands. He had done everything in his power to appear calm and in control in front of his wife and kids, but now that he was alone he could feel the strength draining out of his body. He knew that he needed to go to the surgical waiting area, and down the hall to where Gabe was still waiting to be moved to his room; he had to call Amy's parents, and decide what to do with Charlie for the rest of the night. He had to—

He had to sit. Right here. Right now.

His wife. He tried to picture her on the day they met, or even their wedding day. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure up images of her face as she held each of their children in the delivery room.

But no matter how hard he tried, the image in his mind was of the way she looked waking up every morning, with her hair disheveled and her cheeks flushed with sleep. She had always been a restless sleeper, and often awoke with her pajamas in disarray, pillows marks in her skin, and puffy eyes that refused to open all the way. She would rub at her eyes and lick her dry lips, and he would promptly lose the ability to speak. Even after twenty years of familiarity, the woman could still take his breath away at the most unexpected moments

He tried to tell her once how beautiful she was in the morning, and she'd socked him in the gut.

"Daddy?"

Teddy stood in the doorway, twisting her hands and watching him carefully. "Is – is Mom on her way to surgery?"

"Yeah, Sweetheart. Are you holding up okay?"

She nodded. "Dad, Gabe's doctor wants to talk to you."

"Is something wrong?" he demanded, on his feet in an instant.

"She said it might be nothing. But he got really confused for a few minutes, and started talking to Spencer about flowers and angels. He seems okay now, but he was really spacey. He's just really, really grouchy."

But Gabe wasn't okay when they reached him. He was hunched over a basin, vomiting.

Two nurses helped him, while PJ flattened himself against the far wall, holding a crying Charlie and looking close to tears himself.

Bob went around to the other side of the hospital bed and put his hand on his son's back. "Easy, Gabe," he murmured. "Better out than in."

The little red-haired nurse gave him an approving glance and wiped the boy's face. "See, Gabe? Dad's right here. You're doing great," she said. The other woman silently traded the full basin for an empty one and left.

Gabe rinsed his mouth. " . . . don't want to be sick on my birthday," he grumbled.

"Birthday?" Bob echoed. "Do you think it's your birthday, Sport?"

Gabe glared at him. "No, I was sick on my birthday last year. Just leave me alone. Do. Do, love dew."

Just then Dr. Phillips rushed into the room. She hurried to her patient and quickly examined him. "Mr. Duncan, I've ordered an MRI for him, like we talked about. It takes about an hour. Is your son claustrophobic at all?"

"No. What's wrong with him?"

The doctor hesitated, her eyes flickering over to PJ, Teddy and Charlie, and then down at Gabe, who was muttering crossly about hearing the wind blow. "Gabriel is showing signs of a pretty serious head injury," she finally told them. "There are a lot of different things that could be causing this, some worse than others. We need the MRI to rule out some of them, but the faster I can get a diagnosis, the better his prognosis will be." She turned and rattled of a series of instructions to the nurse.

"Prognosis?" Bob's voice sounded unnaturally high. "What—what does all of that mean?"

"Violets, Dad!" Gabe cried, sitting up suddenly. He grabbed his father's shirt desperately. 'Don't you get it? No!" And with that, he threw up again.

"And I think it might be a good idea to sedate him for the test. But we need to get him down there. Now. "

*****GLC*****

Together, they decided that Bob would accompany Gabe to his MRI while Teddy and PJ would keep Charlie with them in the surgical waiting area. Bob tried to convince them that one or the other should take Charlie home and get some sleep, but neither was willing to budge.

Since there were few surgeries taking place this late at night, they had the small waiting room to themselves. PJ put Charlie down on an uncomfortable-looking couch and tucked his jacket around her before announcing that he needed coffee. "Want some?" He asked his sister. She nodded and watched him walk away in search of vending machines.

Teddy drew a deep, shuddering breath and let the tears go. She didn't remember ever feeling so alone or so scared. Or guilty for being selfish enough to be thinking about Spencer at a time like this. She felt so hurt by the fact that Spencer had simply vanished at some point. She knew she should be more concerned about her mother and brother than about her love life, but she just couldn't help it. His desertion in the face of this crisis was a slap in the face.

It was time to face the fact that Spencer Walsh was an only child, and he was just never going to be able to handle the chaos that was the Duncan family. Try as he might, he would never be up to the challenge of brothers and sisters, or of a big family like hers.

Just as the self-pity was really starting to sink in, Teddy felt a pair of soft, warm arms slide around her shoulders. "Oh, T!" A woman's voice sighed.

"Ivy?" Teddy gaped, open-mouthed at her best friend, Ivy Wentz. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Taking care of my girl," Ivy said. She kept her arm around Teddy's shoulders and sat next to her. "Tell Ivy all about it, Honey."

"B-but how -? I didn't call you. Who -?"

"Spencer came to house and told me everything," the other girl explained. She held out a grocery bag. "He thought you might need some things from your house, and he knew I would know where everything is. Mrs. Dabney let me in. I got Charlie's coat, your phone charger, a clean shirt for your dad – Spencer said Gabe puked on the one he was wearing, ewwww –and I thought Gabe might want _this_."

Tentatively, Teddy reached for the bedraggled stuffed monkey in her friend's hand. "Coco," she whispered. Even now, in middle school, Gabe slept with that stupid monkey every night. "You brought Coco to help him sleep."

Ivy squeezed her shoulders. "Spencer is in the parking garage, putting Charlie's car seat in my car so I can take her home with me. If that's okay. Mom is so excited about having a little kid around the house for a couple of days! Girl, she's already talking about Grandbabies, and I haven't even brought Charlie home yet!"

Teddy laughed out loud in spite of the situation. She could just imagine Mrs. Wentz's excitement at the thought of having a child to spoil for a few days. Charlie was never going to want to come home afterwards.

"Ivy, I-I don't know what to say," she stammered.

Ivy hugged her again. "Then don't say anything. Just let me help. Let _all_ of us help. Mrs. Dabney is watching your house, I've got Charlie, and all you have to do is take care of your mom and Gabe. Spencer even made me call _Emmet_." PJ's best friend, of course.

"Teddy, don't you get it? Your family is our family too, me and Emmet. We've all grown up at your house. As far as I'm concerned, PJ, Gabe and Charlie are just as much my brothers and sister as they are yours. And Emmet feels the same way. We just want your mom and the little guy to be okay."

"So do I. Oh, Ivy . . . so do I."

****GLC****

_Ivy is so fun to write! Everyone should have a best friend who knows eveything about them in a time of crisis. I put her in this story as a tribute to my friends Tosha, Holly and Deb - who knew me well enough to show up to ICU with chapstick, a Heath bar, and a Dr Who DVD._

_I want to thank everyone again for the wonderful reviews, and I want to ask a favor of all of you. There are some ignorant people leaving personal messages and flames that have nothing to do with my story, and I'm asking all of you to PLEASE not engage them or respond to them on my behalf. I appreciate those of you who have tried to defend me, but I don't want anyone putting themselves in the line of fire on my behalf._


	8. A Simple Man

Subdural Hematoma.

Bob rolled the words around on this tongue until they lost what little meaning they held for him. Possible subarachnoid hemorrhage. Intracranial pressure. Burr holes.

"My – my little boy's brain is . . ._bleeding_," he moaned. "Oh, God."

"Mr. Duncan, I know this is overwhelming for you," Dr Phillips told him. "I understand how frightening this must be, but I need you to remember that it's possible for Gabriel to make a full recovery if we can release the pressure inside his head. The surgeon will drill the burr holes to –"

"Burr holes? You –you want to drill holes in his head? Listen, doctor, my wife is a nurse. I don't understand the medical stuff. How long do I have to make the decision?"

The doctor touched his arm. "I know your wife," she said quietly. "I work with her, remember? I've heard her talk about you, and I know she thinks you're a great father. And I can see that for myself when you're with your kids. Right now, your son needs you to make the decision. You can't wait for Amy's surgery to be finished, Bob."

"If you don't drill holes, what happens?"

"Blood will continue to pool within the layer of the brain, gradually increasing the amount of pressure. Eventually, the bleeding may stop, but usually not before causing major damage. That damage can leave the patient with severe deficits or can cause death."

"And what if you do this? Are there still chances of . . . deficits or . . . could we still lose him?"

"Yes, any of that could happen either way. But his chances for survival and full recovery are better with the surgery than without. I'm . . . sorry, I wish I could tell you something more definite."

"All right, do it. Can I. . . see him before they—before?"

She nodded and led him to the room where his son was sleeping, still sedated. Bob sat beside the bed and took the small, limp hand in his own.

He studied Gabe's face, memorizing every detail in case . . . well, just in case. His eyes drank in the sight of the freckles, the slight overbite, the upturned nose. He marveled at the thick sweep of dark lashes against pale skin, and the roundness of cheeks that were still slightly pudgy with the last vestiges of childhood. He gently smoothed the dark hair that had caused so much unhappiness in his son's younger days, when Gabe had wailed about looking so different from his golden-haired siblings; Bob smiled, remembering the day eight-year-old Gabe had proudly declared that his brown hair was better because it meant _he_ was the only one who looked _exactly_ like Grandpa, so _there_.

He thought about all the abilities Gabe had been gifted with. The kid was a born athlete, like his father had been at that age. Baseball, basketball, hockey, karate . . . he tried everything, and did well at all of it. He had a natural grace that made him a success in any sport despite not being the tallest or the biggest on any team. And he was smart –so smart –when he decided to stop messing around and actually applied himself to his school work. Some of the pranks he came up with were unbelievably complex, leaving his parents shaking their heads in awe.

He was a smart aleck, of course. No doubt. But that exterior hid a softer, more sensitive soul that few people saw. Bob stroked the boy's cheek, thinking of how protective his youngest son got whenever anyone made fun of PJ for being, well, odd. Or how he had to sit the boy down and explain to him why he couldn't go beat up Spencer when the teen had broken Teddy's heart. Gabe was fiercely protective of all of his siblings, no matter how much he liked to ridicule them himself.

"Please be strong," he whispered. "We need you, Son. Be strong for us. I don't know if you can hear me but I want you to know that I love you very, very much. We all love you . . . so _much_. "

He thought he felt a tiny movement in the hand he held, but when it didn't happen again, he realized it had just been wishful thinking on his part. Whether from the drugged sleep or from the injury to his head, Gabe was somewhere too far away to respond to his father.


	9. Free Bird

"Amy? Amy, your husband is here."

That voice was sharp enough to open a can of tuna, Amy decided. She groaned.

"Hey, Honey," another voice said, far more quietly. It couldn't be her husband, though; she didn't remember Bob's voice ever sounding so defeated. Frowning, she opened her eyes.

Something large loomed over her. Something remotely man-shaped. But everything seemed so dark and foggy that she couldn't make out any features.

"Amy, can you hear me? Doctor says everything went well."

"Gabe okay?" She croaked.

"He's. . . resting."

Amy heard the hesitation in his voice and knew something was wrong. She _knew_. She tried to speak, but the dark fog was just too strong.

Later, she was awakened again several times by someone poking at her arms and legs and asking "Sharp or dull? Sharp or dull?" She answered each time, knowing that there was something she had to ask, something so incredibly important that her heart ached to know the answer . . . but she just couldn't wrap her drugged mind around what it was.

Finally, she awoke and saw sunshine streaming through a window into her room. She was groggy and slightly nauseous, but she knew she would be awake for a while this time. She wiggled her fingers and toes experimentally and felt a grim satisfaction when they moved. Her right hand moved easily, reaching up to feel around the object that was strapped around her neck and torso. A brace, she realized; not a "halo" that would have involved drilling bolts into her skull, but a neck brace that clipped on to a stabilizer that ended at her waist. As braces go, this was definitely not the worst.

Tentatively, she reached up to touch her face. Nothing hurt there. No stitches or bandages that her fingers could find. A litter higher, her exploring fingers found the stitched spot across the top of her head.

"You're awake!"

Amy smiled at her daughter's voice. "Hi, Sweetheart," she said, her voice hoarse.

"The doctor said your throat might hurt a bit from that tube during the surgery," Teddy told her. "Here's some water."

A straw was pressed against her lips and she drank deeply. The cold water felt wonderful.

"Better?"

"Yes, thank you."

Teddy leaned in closer so that Amy could see her. She looked awful. He face was blotchy and red in places from crying and her eyes were puffy and shiny with unshed tears. Her hair had been pulled back into an untidy ponytail; everything about her appearance screamed of exhaustion and anxiety. "Oh, Honey," she sighed.

"Really, Mom? I look that bad?"

"Well, yeah. Teddy, where's Charlie?"

"She stayed with Ivy's family last night. She's fine. How do you feel?"

"Like I just had a spinal fusion. Where's everyone else?"

"Dad and PJ are . . . with Gabe." There it was – that tiny hesitation. This time it came with a look of pain that travelled across Teddy's features.

"Where's Gabe? What's wrong with him?"

"He's sleeping, Mom. Hey, I was supposed to call your nurse when you woke up. Can you believe they actually expect you to sit up and actually walk a few steps today? Already. Wow"

"Teddy—"

"Mom." Teddy smiled at her.

Maybe she was just going into "Momma Bear" mode because she hadn't seen her son for herself yet. Surely someone would have told her if Gabe's injuries were _that_ severe. Everything must be fine, she reasoned.

At the other end of the hallway, Teddy's older brother leaned over the sink in the men's room and splashed cold water on his face. He was exhausted mentally and physically, but he didn't dare go to sleep anywhere. He was the oldest, and his family needed him. His mother was still fighting to come out of the anesthesia, and his father was a helpless, emotional wreck by this point, able to function but barely speaking. Someone had to keep a cool calm head.

PJ had a sinking feeling that the someone had to be him.

He smoothed his hair into place with his wet hands before drying his hands and face and heading back out of the bathroom. It was time for him to go switch places with Teddy and sit with their mother. They had alternated all through the night and early hours of the morning, making sure that neither parent was alone

He smelled awful, he realized. Sweat, anxiety, old chicken grease from last night's shift at Kwikki Chikki. And yes, B.O. He admitted it. He was rank.

He shook his head, consoling himself that his dad probably smelled worse.

He stopped in the hallway for a moment to stretch and twist. For some reason, the thought of Kwikki Chikki made him actually smell the food. His stomach growled at the strength of his imagination.

"Hey, Duncan."

PJ spun around and realized that his boss, Mitch, had walked up behind him, carrying two delivery bags of Kwikki Chikki food.

"Mitch? What are you doing here? Oh, man, I was supposed to call you, wasn't I? I'm—"

"Relax, Duncan. I just came up here to tell you that you can take the next few days off to be with your family. And I brought some food for all of you. I figured you probably hadn't had time to eat since last night."

PJ blinked. "_You_ did all this? Why?" He heard the incredulity in his own voice and felt his face grow warm. "I'm sorry," he said hastily. "I didn't mean to be rude. Thanks, Mitch."

"Don't worry about it, Kid. Just don't let the other guys know I did a nice thing or they'll think I've gotten soft." The older man smiled briefly and handed the bags to PJ. "So, not to be nosey or anything but . . . how are they?"

"My mom broke her neck," he said. It seemed strange to say it aloud. "She came out of surgery a few hours ago and they told us everything went really well. She should be able to walk and everything, but it might take a while. My little brother is—he's – hang on, I can't . . . my little brother, he's. . ." And with that, PJ's resolve crumbled. The tears he had held back for so long pooled in his eyes as the bile rose in the back of his throat. Wordlessly, he turned and fled back into the bathroom.

Saying it would make it real.

And there were just some things that just _couldn't_ be real for PJ. Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

***GLC***

Amy heard the door open and immediately recognized her husband's heavy footsteps. He touched her arm and leaned in above her to look down into her face.

"Hey, Honey," he said, his voice cracking.

"Bob . . . what is it? What aren't you telling me?"

"Amy, it's about Gabe. We need to talk."

She knew then. She understood her daughter's pale, tear-stained face and the look of utter devastation on her husband's face. She reached up, blindly groping for his hand.

He grasped her hand firmly and bowed his head, unable to meet her eyes.

"Amy, it was a . . . subdural hematoma, bleeding in the -–well, you know what that is. They drilled holes to relieve the pressure, but he . . . the doctor said everything went well and everything looked good, but, but . . . but he. . ."

"Bob . . .?"

"He's not waking up, Amy. He's breathing, his heart is beating, but he won't wake up. The doctor says there may have been too much brain damage.

"He's alive, but we've lost him."


	10. Gimme Three Steps

When Gabe was almost five years old, he fell into a creek while fishing with his family. The water was deep, the current swift, and the child was immediately disoriented. He sank toward the bottom, too terrified to move in the dark, cold water. It was only a matter of seconds before his father hauled him out by his hair and dumped him, dripping wet and bawling, into his mother's arms.

He was back in that water now – cold and impenetrable and so very lost.

Where were his father's strong and capable hands this time? Why couldn't they seize him from this terror once again? And where were his mother's soft, comforting arms that should be holding him, warming him, soothing away the fear with her favorite lullaby?

Then he remembered.

_Roses love sunshine, violets love dew_, she had told him. She was alive in the ER, but if she was all right why wasn't she here, with him? He had heard his father's voice, and there were weird flashes of memory that kept trying to trick him. He remembered trying so hard to ask about her, but the words wouldn't come out.

_ Hear the wind blow, Dear, hear the wind blow. _ Those words came out. _Angels in Heaven know I love you,_ not _Is my mom okay?_

He struggled to reach the surface. He could hear Teddy's voice, softly telling him how much she loved him. That was Teddy, always getting mushy about things. This one time, though, he wished he could lift his arms and reach for her.

"You're my baby brother, Gabe. I'm supposed to help take care of you. How can I do that if you won't wake up?" She asked. "Our house will just be too dull without you. Who's going give everyone a rough time if you're not there to do it? Please, you're . . . you're my baby brother."

_ Give my heart ease, dear, give my heart ease._

Later, he thought he heard a man crying. Gabe wished he could squirm. Bad enough to hear a woman cry, but a man sobbing was just too much pain to endure.

"I'm sorry I fought with you so many times," the man said. PJ?

"Mom says we should sit here and talk to you because you can hear us," PJ continued. "She says you're still in there somewhere. She's got to be right, Gabe. Please, I – I . . . "

_ Mom says? She's not dead?_

"You can't just be . . . gone, not like this. I've still got to teach you about girls, y'know? Dad was really awful teaching me that stuff: 'Always treat a lady with respect, PJ. Hold the door for her; tell her she's beautiful, blah blah.' But I was going to teach you the _good_ stuff. How to get a girl to let you kiss her, hold her hand, maybe even get to second base, right? Or maybe you're not old enough to be thinking about second base, yet."

_ Oh, I think about it. Almost got there with Jo Keener – twice._

"I know the girls in your grade like you, Dude. You don't ever notice it, but I've seen the way a couple of them look at you. See, that's something else I should have taught you – there's just a way a chick looks at you sometimes that lets you know that yeah, you've got a real shot with her. Gabe, who else can I teach all this stuff to? Sure, I've got to make sure Charlie knows how to stay away from guys like me. But I want to teach you to _be_ a guy like me."

_ Angels in Heaven know I love you._

Still later, he heard Teddy's voice again, and his father's voice, and the PJ's again. Then he heard crashes and shouts, PJ's voice raised in anger, and then the slow, steady sound of his sister weeping.

_ Down in the valley, the valley so low._

***GLC****

Amy chafed at being so close to her son, but still unable to go to him. She knew it would be a matter of hours. First, they would gradually raise her head until she was able to sit upright without dizziness. Then they would show her how to stand up with a walker and take a few steps. Three steps. When she could take three steps to a wheelchair, she would be wheeled down to Gabe's room.

She refused to believe that he was gone beyond their reach. She had seen patients come back from this point, and she was determined that her little boy was going to be one of the rare ones to wake up after this many hours.

"I don't want him to be alone," she had instructed her family during an impromptu family meeting. "I want someone with him at all times. Talking to him, touching him—because physical contact is really important. He needs to know we're here with him."

Alone with Bob for a minute, she begged him to lift her into the wheelchair and take her there now. He refused.

"Do you have any idea how lucky you are to be alive at all?" He demanded. "Being able to walk is a bonus. I'm not going to take any chances with you."

"But Gabe –"

"—is going to need you if he wakes up," He finished for her. "Please, Amy, I can't lose both of you."

"Stop that!" She snapped. "You keep talking like he's gone. Don't say "if". We can't give up on him, Bob. We just can't."

He didn't answer.

Throughout the long hours of that day, they took turns with Gabe and with Amy, and even caught catnaps in uncomfortable chairs. They ate cold Kwikki Chikki food for lunch and again for supper when Mitch returned with another armload of food. Spencer came and went, bringing them bottles of water and phone chargers and anything else the family needed. Later in the day, Amy asked Teddy to have Ivy bring Charlie up to the hospital so she could see her family.

PJ was the first to completely lose control. One minute, he was talking to Gabe, and the next he was overturning trays and punching walls in a fit of blind fury.

"It's not fair!" He raged.

"You're right!" His father raged back. "But breaking up Gabe's hospital room isn't going to bring him back!"

"But he's just a kid. Kids aren't supposed to die, Dad. He never even made it to high school, or learned to drive, or . . . Dad, I can't remember if I ever told him I love him. What if he didn't know?"

"He knew, PJ." Bob pulled his oldest child close and fought back his own tears as PJ sobbed into his shirt.

"It's not fair," PJ said, more quietly this time. "They were just driving down the road. Five seconds earlier or later, and that tree would have missed them. Five seconds, Dad. Five seconds, and I'd still have my brother."

"PJ, he can hear you," Teddy whispered. "Don't give up on him. Mom said he needs to hear positive—"

"Mom doesn't know, Teddy. Look at him. We've been talking to him all day, and nothing. He's not in there anymore. Face it, he's gone!"

"No, he's not!" She cried fiercely.

"Enough," Bob told them. "No more shouting. PJ, let's go clean up your hand. Looks like you messed it up pretty good when you hit that wall."

Alone, Teddy squeezed her brother's hand and laid her head on his chest. "Don't you listen to them," she told him. "I know you can hear us, and you're still fighting. Mom will be able to be here soon, and Charlie is on her way, so we'll all be together. I promise."

*****GLC*****

_Almost done! Two more chapters to go. Thank you all so much for sticking with it. I'm trying to figure out how to put a link to YouTube for the song, but I'm not very good with computers. Until then, if anyone wants to hear it and look it up on your own, the best version is the one by the Smothers Brothers._

_A little reminder: the lyrics to "Down in the Valley" are in the public domain._


	11. Don't Ask Me No Questions

Both feet planted firmly on the floor, like _so_. Left hand on the walker, right hand on the bed. Remember to push with the legs, not pull with the arms. And . . . _so_.

"I'm up!" Amy crowed. She swayed slightly.

"Take a moment to get your bearings," the nurse said. Amy hadn't even bothered to catch the woman's name. She had seen her around the hospital before, but they had never actually worked together, and right now, Amy had no interest whatsoever in being polite.

Right now, she wanted to get to the wheelchair and go to her son.

"Easy, Amy," Bob murmured.

Hesitantly, she moved one foot forward, and then the other. "Was that one step or two?" She panted.

"That counted as one," the nurse told her, smiling.

Amy flashed a quick smile and took another step. Then another.

"Good job. Ready to go for a ride?"

She lowed herself carefully into the waiting wheelchair, just as she had been taught: left hand on the walker, right hand on the arm of the chair. Exhausted already, she bit her lip and glanced up at her husband, reaching for his hand. "Let's go," she whispered.

Gabe was only four rooms away. The trip down the hallway went too fast and too slowly, all at the same time. She wanted to see him, hold him, touch him, and yet felt a ripple of fear about actually seeing him like this.

Then the hesitation was over and she was there. Bob pushed the door open and eased the wheelchair through the opening.

PJ was there, leaning against a wall and staring glumly at the white bandages across his right hand. Amy made a mental note to ask about that, later. Charlie was sitting on Teddy's lap near Gabe's bed. She squealed at the sight of her mother and then burst into tears at the sight of the brace. "Don't like it, Mommy!" She wailed. "Take it off!"

"I will, Sweetheart. I promise. But I have to wear it for a while, just until I'm all better." She held out her arms, but the toddler hung back.

Bob scooped Charlie up and hugged her. "Mommy will get better faster if she gets lots of kisses from you," he said in loud stage whisper. "I'll hold you up so you don't have to touch the neck brace."

At the touch of childish lips against her cheek, Amy drew a deep shuddering breath. She struggled for control.

"Mommy, Gabe is being bad," Charlie said. "He sleeped and sleeped and don't wanna get up."

"I—I know," Amy whispered. "Maybe he needs to hear Mom tell him it's time to wake up. You think so?"

It was time to look at Gabe. Bob put Charlie down and gently pushed his wife closer to his bed.

Like her husband and children before her, Amy took her son's hand in her own. She was startled to discover that his hand was bigger than hers. When had he grown so much?

She looked up at his slack features. No, he didn't look like he was just sleeping. There were fresh bandages and shaved patches in his dark hair. His mouth hung open slightly, and his face was strangely puffy. His color was what really caught her attention. It wasn't just that he was pale with discolored and bruised areas; there was a hue to his skin that was just . . . off. Sort of a gray tone that reminded her of a display in a wax museum.

Clearing her throat, she spoke to her youngest son. "Now, Gabe," she said firmly; "Gabe, enough is enough. It's time for you to wake up and be a part of this family again. We're all right here, and we all want you back."

Nothing.

She begged then. She scolded and wept and kissed his hand and finally drifted into a silence that was mirrored by every person in the room.

"Mommy?" Charlie asked. "Why doesn't he wake up?"

Amy searched for the right words. "He bumped his head—"she started.

"When the tree falled?"

"Yes, Honey, when the tree fell."

"Is him deaded?"

"N-no," Amy answered, fighting back the sob that seemed stuck in her throat.

"Want Gabe." Charlie's lower lip stuck out. Tears welled up in her big brown eyes.

"Of course you do! We all want our Gabe," Teddy said softly.

Amy had been so certain, so positive that he just needed to hear his mother's voice. She had convinced herself that he would realize that his entire family was here and then he would miraculously open his eyes and everything would be all right.

She had been deluding herself.

Nothing would ever be all right again. Charlie climbed up on the bed beside Gabe and took his free hand in hers, imitating her mother.

"He kept talking about flowers," PJ suddenly spoke up. "It's like he was trying to tell us something, but we couldn't understand him."

"Roses," Teddy sad. "He kept telling me about roses. I never even knew he liked roses."

"Maybe if we brought some roses up here," Amy ventured. "Maybe he's homesick and thinking about the rosebushes in our yard."

"He mentioned violets, too," Bob said. "Kept saying that Violets do something."

Charlie giggled.

"I'll go," PJ offered. "There's a flower shop downstairs. I'll go get some roses, and maybe the smell will help him wake up."

Amy shook her head. Flowers were not allowed in the Trauma Care unit. "I just wish I knew what he was trying to tell us," she sighed. "Gabe, what's so important about roses and violets?"

"Daddy and Mommy are singing the night-night song," Charlie laughed. "_Down in the valley, valley so low_," she sang.

There was a soft tapping at the door, and Amy's nurse pushed the door open. "Excuse me," she said, "but I have to take you back to your room now. Doctor's orders were pretty strict."

"But I can't," Amy told her.

"Amy, you have to remember that you're the patient here, too," the nurse told her. "I'm sorry, but—"

Charlie's little voice was getting louder. "_Roses love sunshine, violets love dew-oooh_!"

"Charlie, Sweetie, use your quiet voice," Amy told her.

"No, Mommy, Gabe likes this song. See, he's happy now. _Angels in Heaven know I love you—oooh_."

"Mom—" Teddy's voice was oddly hushed. "Mom, Dad . . . I think – is he smiling?"

"_Know I love you, dear_," Charlie sang.

" . . . _know I love you. . _."

The voice was barely above a whisper, almost unrecognizable. And it didn't speak again.

But it was Gabe's voice.


	12. Tuesday's Gone

"That's right, Baby, angels in Heaven know I love you," Amy's voice rang out in the sudden silence. "Gabe, Honey, I'm right here. We're all here—Oh, God, he squeezed my hand. Bob, he squeezed my hand."

Bob reached around to clasp both of his hands around his wife's and son's hands. "Gabe? Can you hear me, Son?"

He thought he might collapse when he felt the tiniest movement. "That—that was _him_?" He asked hoarsely. "Amy, are you sure?"

"I'm sure!"

For the next few minutes, pandemonium reigned in the tiny room as everyone tried to touch him and talk to him. Then Amy held up a hand to shush them. "Someone needs to get Dr. Phillips," she said.

"The nurse already took off," PJ told her. "I think she went to get her."

"Good. Gabe, stay with us_. Roses love sunshine, violets love dew._ _Angels in Heaven know I love you_."

He didn't speak again, but there was something different about his face. Not a change of expression exactly, but a difference. Amy and Bob kept their hold on his hand, praying for another movement.

The door burst open, and Dr Phillips strode into the room. "So," she said; "What's this I hear about him speaking?"

Amy hastened to explain while Teddy lifted Charlie off the bed. The doctor quickly examined Gabe while peppering them with questions.

"Gabe," she said firmly, taking his hands. "Gabe, if you can hear me, I want you to squeeze with your right hand. Now with your left. Good job." She looked pleased.

"This a good sign," she told them. "He's responding directly to what we are saying. I've scheduled an EEG for him in the morning, and that will give us a better idea of where things stand. Until then, let's keep doing what we're doing – talking, touching. Singing, apparently."

"EEG?" Bob echoed.

"Electro Encephalogram. A picture of brain wave activity."

"Is he—does this mean –is he going to wake up?" Bob asked.

"It means I'm cautiously optimistic. He seems to have turned a corner, but it's still hard to say exactly just how much of a corner. Amy, you're supposed to be back in your room, aren't you? Let's not forget that you're a patient, too."  
"I won't leave him."

"Yes, you will. You're on wheels, remember?" The doctor smiled. "Amy, I'm a mom, too. I can't even begin to imagine what you're going through. But look around this room at all of the people who need you to be well; it's vital that you take care of your own injuries just as well as we take care of Gabe's. How about five more minutes with him, and then back to your room. Someone will bring you an update every hour. Sound good?"

The five minutes went by too fast. Amy spent them singing and talking to her child, kissing his hand and pressing it to her cheek. She touched his face and smoothed his hair, telling him over and over that she loved him. When the time was up, she was wheeled from the room and back to her own.

Bob tried to go with her, but she waved him off. "Gabe needs you more than I do," she said.

Three hopeful young faces turned toward him, waiting for some kind of instruction. Bob stared back at them.

"Um," he said. "Um, okay. Teddy, is Ivy coming back for Charlie? Good. I can stay here with Gabe, but you two have to get some sleep. So—"

"No way," PJ interrupted. "We're not leaving him. Or you."

Teddy nodded.

"Guys—"

"No."

_ "Dad?"_

They all froze.

_ "Where's . . . Mom?"_

Later, Bob would never recall just exactly how he ended up perched on the edge of Gabe's bed, looking into a pair of sleepy brown eyes he had never thought to see open again. He only knew that at the moment, the only people in the world were his son and himself. "Mom's here," he said softly. "She's in her room, worried about you."

"She's hurt."

"Yeah, but she'll be okay. I promise."

"Promise?"

"Cross my heart."

Gabe smiled faintly even as his eyes closed again. And for the first time since this nightmare began, Bob Duncan buried his face in his hands and wept.

****GLC***

Estelle Dabney didn't like many people. That wasn't an exaggeration; it was the simple truth. She tolerated people, some better than others. Her neighbors, the Duncans, really pushed her tolerance to its limits. They were loud and boisterous and always had some degree of mayhem and foolishness going on over there.

Well, she reflected as she peered out through her kitchen curtains, they weren't _all_ bad. Bob was always willing to help with any heavy lifting or minor repairs she might need help with. And Amy was generous enough with her awful baking, even though there wasn't a neighbor left on the street who was ignorant enough to eat anything she made. Even the older two children, odd as they were, could be counted on to treat her with neighborly respect and politeness. It was that third child of theirs that caused all the trouble.

She harrumphed quietly as she watched their God-awful yellow truck pull up in the driveway. It had been nearly a week without the little terror and his mother. A week without waiting for one of his pranks, or hearing the shouts as he got himself grounded yet again. A week without questioning the child's every move, trying to figure out what he was plotting.

"Mom? Are you still there?"

Estelle glanced at the phone in her hand; as a matter of fact, she _had_ forgotten she was in the middle of a conversation with her son, but she certainly wasn't about to admit to it.

"I'm here, Rodney," she snapped. "Just watching those idiot Duncans come home from the hospital. Looks like my vacation is over."

Rodney's chuckle came through the phone line, loud and clear. "Do you realize how boring your life would be without them?" he asked.

She harrumphed again. "He pulled right into the garage. How am I supposed to tell whether he brought both of them home or not? That daughter of theirs said they were both being released today, but you never know."

"You could always go over there and ask."

"Don't be silly. They don't need visitors right now. Besides, I'm sure that Gabe is still in the hospital. What kind of parent brings a child home this soon after he almost died? He needs better care than that."

"Of course he does."

"Don't you patronize me, young man!"

"Never, Mom," Rodney said, laughing again. "Listen, you and I both know how much you care about that kid. Now why don't you go take them that tuna casserole you know you made for them, because you know you need an excuse to go over there."

"I only care because the longer he's in the hospital, the longer my flower beds are safe."

"Uh-huh."

"And it's lasagna, not tuna casserole."

"Tell the Duncans I said hi."

With an aggrieved sigh, she hung up and retrieved some covered dishes from her kitchen and headed out the back door to the Duncans' house. Just being neighborly, of course.

"Thought you might need some dinner," she told Bob when he opened the door. "Lasagna, garlic bread, and a chocolate cake."

"Well . . . thank you, Mrs. Dabney," he said. "I—I don't know what to say."

"You already said thank you. That'll do." She looked around him and spotted Amy sitting on the couch, her entire upper body encased in a plastic and metal brace. There was no sign of their little demon-child. "Looks like they kept Gabe?" she asked.

"No, he's home, too. He's in his room, resting."

She tsked.

"I'm sure he's not asleep yet, if you'd like to go up and say hello." Amy called out to her.

"Why would I want to do that? No, I'll just go back home now. I just wanted to bring you dinner." She turned to leave, but turned back at the last minute to mumble something.

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Bob asked.

She sighed. "I said, the red container is full of oatmeal cookies for Gabe. I know he likes them. Lord knows he's stolen enough of them from me over the years."

"Thank you, Mrs. Dabney."

With one more harrumph, she stomped back to her own quiet, lonely house, and cast one more glance back at the Duncan's house. At one of the upstairs windows, a curtain twitched and a pale, round face looked out at her. Slowly, cautiously, he waved at her.

She shook a warning finger at him and watched a slow, mischievous grin light up his face.

Yes, life would soon be back to normal at the Duncan house. They had come so close to losing their mother and that precious little boy, but life would soon return to the same patterns of Gabe harassing and irritating her at every turn.

And no one would ever hear her admit how thankful that made her.

-End-


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